The Power (62 page)

'Yes, I have understood you.'

'Lac Noir - the Black Lake - is a lonely place. It is also

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easy to observe from many points. You will bring the
money and you will come alone. I said
alone.
If you bring
anyone else we will never meet. I will show you the film,
play the first section of the tape. You will give me the
money. The exchange will be completed.'

Norton instantly saw his chance to manipulate the
arrangement to suit his own purpose. His tone was domi
nant and grim.

'OK so far. But hell, you think I have that kind of
dough in my back pocket? Because I haven't. It's in a safe
place under heavy guard. I might be able to bring it up to you by six in the evening. No earlier. In any case, I want
proof you have the items I need. So now you'll listen to
me - if you want that dough. Or, to use your own words,
we'll never meet. Six o'clock,' he repeated emphatically.

'Washington isn't going to like this at all
...'

At this point Norton knew he had Growly Voice on the defensive for the first time. He hadn't broken off the call. He hadn't refused the later time of six o'clock Norton had
laid down. Keep up the pressure, Norton told himself,
and barked into the phone: 'Screw Washington. You can
tell them I said that. I am the guy in charge of this
operation. I am on the spot. I know where the money is.
You're dealing with me? Get it? Just me. I'll be at the
Black Lake at six o'clock in the evening tomorrow. All on
my ownsome. And since presumably you're a European,
six o'clock is eighteen hundred hours. Good night...'

Norton slammed down the phone before the voice at
the other end could respond. He lit a cigar, dwelling with
satisfaction on how he'd turned the tables on Growly
Voice. Four in the afternoon it was still daylight, but by
six it was black as pitch. The blackmailer was going to get
a very nasty surprise tomorrow. And the timing fitted in
with eliminating Tweed and his team if they went up into
the mountains - they were bound to choose daylight
hours. The big bucks were safe, too. Maybe he could
clean up the whole operation by this time tomorrow
evening. He took another puff at his cigar, a choice
Havana. Banned in the States - just because it came from Cuba.

Twenty million dollars is a lot of money to have suspended from a chain attached to your right-hand wrist. Louis
Sheen still had the chain linking his wrist with the brown suitcase containing the fortune in US banknotes. From his
room in the Basle Hilton he had been transported by car across the frontier to the Hotel Bristol in Colmar.

His room, on the first floor, was probably the most
heavily guarded area in Alsace-Lorraine. At all times
three armed men occupied the room with him. Sheen was beginning to get fed up with room service. He peered at Mencken who had just been let into the room, glared at
him through his rimless glasses.

'Look, Marvin, there are too many scumbags infesting
this room. If I have to stay here a night longer I want
them cleared out. You think I enjoy trying to sleep with this case as a bedmate? Because I don't.'

Mencken stroked a finger down the side of his long pointed jaw. Through half-closed eyes he studied Sheen with an expression which hardly radiated liking or sym
pathy. He spoke throatily as he made his casual sug
gestion.

'You've got the keys to unlock those steel cuffs hidden somewhere. Must have for when the time comes to hand
over the billion dollars. So why not unlock the cuff on
your wrist? No one can fool
with trying to open the case.
You're the only one who knows the code for those combi
nation locks. Anyone who did try fooling around would
end up igniting the thermite bomb inside - burning the
money to a crisp, probably themselves, too.'

'I have my instructions,' Sheen snapped. 'And they
come from a far higher source than you'll ever meet, let
alone reach.'

Sheen, wearing a grey Brooks Brothers suit, was an accountant by training. He felt himself superior in intellect and class to these people. It was just unfortunate he
had to spend time in such
bad company. This attitude was
not lost on Mencken. He leaned his face close to Sheen,
who sat on the bed, propped against pillows, the case next
to him.

'I'm Marvin to a few good friends,' he informed Sheen.
'But you don't come into that category. So, in future it's
Mr Mencken. I'm the boss. OK?'

'Makes no difference to me,' Sheen retorted in a bored tone. 'And the boss is Norton. He's the only one who can tell me to release what's inside this case.'

'You listen to me.' Mencken's expression had become ugly. 'These men are here to protect your worthless hide.
They heard you call them scumbags - so if that door burst open and the Marines arrived, just how much enthusiasm
do you think they'd have protecting you?'

'You
were ordered to protect me. You must have a
good idea how high up that order came from. And the
amount in this case is not a billion. You know that. Now,
go away and put these men outside in the corridor.'

Sheen's eyes gazed contemptuously at Mencken from
behind the rimless glasses. Mencken shoved the fingers of
both hands inside his belt. At last Sheen had given him an
opening to hit back at the creep.

'Listen, buddy boy, you know this is a hotel, that we're keeping you under cover. So what the hell do you think it
would look like if I put the three scumbags - wasn't that
the word you used? - outside your door in the hotel
corridor? I've got news for you, Sheen. You look after the
dough, I'll look after everything else. Sleep well, buddy
boy...'

Mencken left the room which was immediately locked
again from the inside. The secret order from Norton gave
him a big kick. When the case had eventually been
opened, the thermite bomb removed, at the first opportu
nity Mencken had personally to shoot Louis Sheen in the
head and dispose of the body. He couldn't wait for that
happy moment.

Prior to going to bed, Newman had gone into the Brasserie to buy a large bottle of mineral water. He often woke up in the middle of the night feeling parched. They were
cleaning up in the Brasserie as he entered, sweeping
floors, wiping the counter, polishing glasses. Newman was
surprised to see Eve Amberg nursing a glass of cham
pagne at a table. She raised her glass to him.

'What's the celebration in aid of?' he enquired, accep
ting her invitation to join her.

'Victory! I've pinned down Walter Amberg. He's
agreed on the phone to see me at the Chateau Noir
tomorrow morning. This time I won't leave till I get all
the money which is mine. Hence the champers. Come on, Bob. Join me in my celebration.' She summoned a waiter,
ordered a glass before Newman could protest. Worried,
when the waiter had brought his glass, he tried to think of
how to get her to delay her visit.

'Cheers, Bob!' Eve clinked his glass. 'Wish me luck up
at the château.'

Even at this hour she was full of energy and the enthu
siasm he found so infectious. She leaned her head on his
shoulder, her long titian mane draped over his jacket,
face turned sideways so her greenish eyes could study
him. I could fall for this woman if I don't watch it,
Newman told himself.

He was worried that if Eve went up into the mountains
tomorrow she could easily drive into an area where the
guns were firing. Because the guns
would
be firing -
Newman was convinced of this. Norton would exploit all
the advantages of the mountain terrain to annihilate
Tweed and his team. He'd already tried to wipe them out
on a smaller scale in Zurich's Bahnhofstrasse, plus the
memory of how he
himself had just been saved by Beck's police car from being run down in Basle. Eve was stroking
his hand when he spoke.

'Amberg has been very difficult with you recently - he's
deliberately avoided you. Now he's agreed graciously to receive you into the presence, shouldn't you play hard to
get? Throw him off balance - phone him tomorrow morn
ing and say you'll be driving up to see him the following
day.'

'You don't know Walter like I do. I appreciate what
you suggested. With many men it would work. Not with
Walter. He's more stubborn than a mule. Now I've pres
sured him into seeing me I must grab my
chance. He may
have decided to pay me off to get rid of me. You only get
one chance with Walter—' She broke off and, her head still resting on Newman's shoulder, stared at the new
comer who had entered the Brasserie by the short cut. It
was Tweed.

'We're celebrating!' Eve greeted Tweed buoyantly.
'Champers for you. Drink to my successful trip
tomorrow.'

The waiter had already arrived with a fresh glass of champagne. Tweed waved it aside, asked for a glass of
Riesling.

'Helps me to sleep,' he explained amiably to Eve. 'It's
the only wine I really like - so being in Alsace I'm making
the most of it. Thank you,' he said to the waiter, raised his
glass, stared at Eve who was eyeing him sideways. 'So
what are we celebrating at this late hour?'

Newman explained Eve's plans, emphasizing that he'd
tried to persuade her to wait for twenty-four hours. Tweed
grasped at once Newman's motive in attempting to delay
her visit. While listening to the explanation Eve stared
fixedly at Tweed, her full lips moving slightly. It was a
situation not unfamiliar to Tweed - an attractive woman who liked to flirt, who pretended to be interested in one
man while she took aim at her real target. In this case, he
suspected, himself.

To Newman's surprise Tweed made no attempt to back up his failed argument to stop Eve driving to the Château
Noir tomorrow - almost today now. Sipping his Riesling,
Tweed held Eve's inviting gaze and then took a view which
infuriated Newman.

'I think you're right to keep the appointment with
Amberg. It's taken long enough to track him down. What time are you to meet him?'

'Eleven in the morning. He even said he might provide
lunch since there wasn't anywhere else to eat near the château.
I accepted.'

'You were surprised when he suggested lunch?'
enquired Tweed.

'Very. I've never taken to Walter and assumed it was a mutual feeling. I'm beginning to think maybe it could be
pure shyness where women are concerned. Perhaps I'm
due for a pleasant shock tomorrow.'

'Don't bank on it,' Newman told her sharply.

'What a pessimist Bob is.' Eve raised her head from his
shoulder. Smoothing down her hair, she leaned over the
table to where Tweed faced her, grasped his hand. 'Do you
object to my driving up to see Walter in the morning?'